


The Family Business

by SuperWhoLockianFangirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dean crying, Gen, Pre-Series, Swearing, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 06:39:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperWhoLockianFangirl/pseuds/SuperWhoLockianFangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And suddenly, it’s like Sam’s not even drunk anymore. His words are still slurred and his eyes are still glassy, but the ideas behind the words are so clear, so painfully clear that Dean realizes Sam’s thought about this a lot. Sam really thinks they aren’t a family. Sam really feels that way."</p>
<p>My own - angst-ridden - version of Sam leaving Dean and John for Stanford.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Family Business

**Author's Note:**

> All I can truly say is that this hurt me to write. Dean crying does bad things to me.

Sam is drunk. Dean can smell the alcohol on him the second he opens the motel room door. It’s not like this is the first time he’s ever seen his little brother wasted – that would be almost a year ago, after Sam’s first girlfriend broke up with him. The kid did not handle it well, but Dean had been there like he always was and Sam got over it.

This time is different though, Dean can just tell. As far as he knows, Sam isn’t dating anyone. He doesn’t have a reason to be drinking at all and, now that he thinks about it, where the hell did Sam get the beer anyways? He’s seventeen.

He gets the answer to that question quickly enough. The fake ID sits out on the small table, like some defiant, neon sign declaring his actions.

Dean scowls and snatches the ID first, pocketing it. He turns to face his little brother and his nose curls at the overwhelming aroma of cheap beer and whiskey. Sam is sitting on the motel bed, long legs sprawled out and dangling a bit over the edge. He’s staring blindly at a muted TV screen, holding a half empty beer in his hand.

Dean grabs that too and tosses it out, ignoring the mumbled protest that follows immediately.

“Ya know,” he says, “Dad didn’t get you that ID so you could buy beer, Sammy.”

Sam shrugs, non-apologetic. “Name’s Sam,” he slurs, blinking bleary eyes at his big brother.

Dean presses his lips together tightly. He can’t blame Sam for drinking – it’s not like John disapproves of it out-right. But Dean knows he’ll be pissed if he gets back and finds Sam sloshed. And he knows he’ll take the blame for it, too. Sam’s seventeen fucking years old and John still thinks Dean should be able to control his every move.

Well he’s not taking the fall tonight.

“C’mon,” Dean bends down to lift Sam up off the bed. Sam resists, shoving Dean away with a hard push.

Dean scowls, studying Sam’s face. When the hell did Sam get so strong? He wonders if it’s just the alcohol, but he’s been noticing Sam’s surly attitude more and more often lately. He knows Sam well enough to know he’s keeping something from them, but he never pushes the issue. Sam’ll talk when he’s ready.

Well, he’d better get ready, because Dean’s tired of dealing with it and this might just be his breaking point.

“Get up, Sammy,” he snaps, “Dad’ll be back any minute and you reek.”

“Don’t care,”

Dean scowls, “Damn it, Sam! Get your ass up! I care! You want him to be pissed the second he walks in?”

Sam shrugs and doesn’t move from his bed. Dean knows Sam’s strong, and taller than Dean is – he hates that his little brother is taller – but he’s lanky and still a little awkward. Plus, he’s completely wasted at the moment. Dean’s surer footed, more heavily muscled and has the advantage of being totally sober.

He grabs Sam roughly, yanking him from the bed. Sam’s eyes go wide, like a fish out of water and his mouth gapes open in a surprised gasp. Dean ignores the grunt of pain as Sam stumbles and falls to his knees. Serves him right, the little bitch.

Dean yanks him back to his feet and Sam wobbles there, clutching Dean’s shirt to balance himself. Dean nearly falls over trying to help him stand, but Sam doesn’t seem to notice and instead turns his glassy eyes to Dean’s face.

“Come on,” Dean starts dragging Sam. He’s heavier than Dean remembers him being, but that’s not much of an issue. Sam can hardly pick up his own feet. “We need to get you into the shower.”

Sam shakes his head and starts to resist again. He can’t get leverage, though, with Dean holding him like he is and instead ends up slumping even closer to his brother. His breath wafts over Dean’s face and he nearly vomits at the smell.

“Can’t,” Sam insists, “gotta talk to Dad.”

Dean pauses, frowning, “About what?”

Sam shakes his head, “’s important,” he says, “gotta tell ‘im now. He’s gonna be pissed…”

Dean’s brow furrows and he straightens Sam up as best he can, plopping him back down on the edge of the bed.

“What are you talkin’ about, Sammy?”

Sam is quiet for a second, staring at Dean with his eyes wide and desperate.

“Scholarship,” he breaths out after a moment, “I applied for college…”

Dean’s heart starts sinking, but Sam doesn’t seem to notice the way his brother’s whole face is crumbling right in front of him.

“You wanna go to college?”

Sam blinks, frowning a little that the question. “’Course I do,” he says, “I can’t keep hunting forever…”

Dean tries not to look like an arrow just shot through his heart, but he’s pretty sure he’s failing. Sam still doesn’t notice.

“Sure you can,” Dean argues. He’s not sure why. Sam’s toasted. He isn’t going to remember any of this in the morning. “It’s what we do, Sammy,”

Sam shakes his head, “Not me,” he says, “not for me. Gotta do…” his brow furrows, like he’s trying to remember something important. “gotta do my own thing, Dean… Gotta live my life…”

Dean’s throat is getting tight. He can feel a familiar burn starting behind his eyes. He scrubs at his face and shakes his head, trying to unhear the words his brother his saying, but desperately needing to hear the rest.

“Y-You can live your life with us, Sammy,” Dean protests. His voice cracks. He hates that. He clears his throat, but that only seems to make the lump inside tighter. “We’re a family, Man…”

Sam snorts, “No we’re not,” he says, “We’re not a family, Dean, we’re just Dad’s fucking soldiers. He doesn’t give a damn about us…”

And suddenly, it’s like Sam’s not even drunk anymore. His words are still slurred and his eyes are still glassy, but the ideas behind the words are so clear, so painfully clear that Dean realizes Sam’s thought about this a lot. Sam really thinks they aren’t a family. Sam really feels that way.

His heart clenches like ice in his chest and neither he nor Sam notice the tear that slips down his cheek, followed soon by another and then another.

“That’s not true,” Dean says, his voice is garbled and cracked. He might as well be drunk now, Sam’s talking clearer than he is. “We’re family. You’re my brother.”

And Sam looks at him, his eyes clearing for one second, wide and bright and full of regret.

“And you’re my brother,” Sam says, reaching out clumsily to clutch at Dean’s shoulders. His fingers are painfully tight there, but Dean doesn’t move them, doesn’t wince or say a word as Sam looks him right in the eyes. “but this isn’t a family.”

He laughs the most bitter laugh that Dean thinks he’s ever heard. It’s dark and vicious and tears something away from Dean that he never thought he had.

“This is some fucked up… screwed up mess. Not a family. We’re not _normal_ , Dean. I wanna be normal.”

Dean’s throat is too tight. He fears he might not even be able to get the words out this time, but they come and they come in tight, pleading tones that make him hate himself. He depends on Sam so much – he loves him so much. He’s his little brother, for God’s sake. He can’t just _leave_.

“What’s so great about normal?” he asks.

Sam leans back, frowning drunkenly, trying to figure out that question. He shrugs, “It’s safe,” he says finally. “It’s easy. I want safe. I want easy. Dean, I don’t wanna be here anymore. I don’t wanna be a soldier.”

“We need you, Sammy,” Dean’s openly crying now, but he only vaguely registers the tears on his face. “ _I_ need you.”

“No,” Sam shakes his head, “you don’t need me, Dean. _I_ need me. I need to be normal. I need to go to school. I – I need to…” his words drop off and Dean finally realizes that Sam’s looking a little green.

“I need to get… away…” Sam’s words are slurring worse than before. There’s a fine sheen on sweat on his face and Dean reaches out to wipe the sweaty hair from his forehead. Sam doesn’t give him the chance.

He lurches forward, stumbling awkwardly toward the tiny bathroom. Dean sits back and lets him go, scrubbing at his face and feeling a part of him shrivel up inside as he hears Sam start to vomit.

Minutes later, Dean’s still sitting there, staring blankly at the ground and Sam stumbles back out. He looks awful and Dean’s feels a pang of worry, but Sam doesn’t even look at him. He shuffles toward his bed and falls facedown onto the pillow. Seconds later, he’s snoring.

Dean stares at his sleeping brother for a long time. Then he gets up, tugs off Sam’s boots and socks, turns him onto his side and covers him with the blanket. He pats Sam’s forehead gently, feeling the slick sweat on his brow and pushing his hair back.

His chest is tight. He feels more tears threatening to burst their way free, but he ignores them in favor of staying up and watching Sam to make sure he doesn’t drown in his own vomit during the night.

John shows up later than he had he promised, but Dean doesn’t even care anymore. He’s still sitting up, watching Sam. John asks if everything’s alright. He can tell there’s something wrong, but Dean only shrugs and John decides not to push the issue. Whatever it was, everything looks fine now.

That night Dean prays to God that Sam will reconsider taking the scholarship. He begs God not to let his brother leave him, not to break up his family. He’s not even sure if he believes in God, but he prays anyway.

The next morning, Sam doesn’t seem to remember a thing. He’s hung-over and seriously ill, but Dean takes care of him. It’s his job, it’s what he does and he does it well. Of course, John notices the hang-over, but Dean promises him that it was nothing and for once, John let’s Dean handle it his own way.

* * *

Dean thanks God that Sam seems to have forgotten their entire drunken conversation. For five long and tense months Dean keeps praying, every night, that Sam will never tell their dad about his plans to leave. Prays that Sam will decide to stay. Prays that they can stay together as a family, because he needs them more than he wants to admit and he’ll do whatever it takes to keep them together.

Five months later, when they’re on the very cusp of Sam’s graduation and not very long after Sam turns eighteen, Sam drops the bomb. Dean sits in stunned silence, feeling that familiar tightness rip open in his chest.

It hurts even worse to hear Sam’s words this time because Sam’s not drunk. He’s clear-headed and sober. At first. As John’s voice rises, so does Sam’s and Dean’s fighting back his own tears trying to keep them from killing each other.

He feels like there’s a knife in his chest and the tears are falling again by the time John tells Sam not to bother coming back. Neither Sam nor John notice Dean’s tears. In fact, they hardly notice Dean’s there at all as they scream at each other.

As the door slams behind Sam, Dean feels the icy, hard lump in his chest expand painfully. He wonders if they’ll ever be a family again. He begs his father to take it back, begs him to call Sam and just _talk to him._ They can still be a family. They can still be together.

John ignores him, pushes him away and mutters a long string of swears before viciously yanking the refrigerator open and grabbing a bottle of whiskey. Dean watches throughout the rest of the night as John drinks himself into a stupor. He puts his dad to bed that night and sits up all night again, just to make sure John is okay.

He doesn’t pray this time. Prayer obviously doesn’t work. God doesn’t give a damn and Dean decides he doesn’t need him. He’ll get his family back together on his own. Somehow. The burning behind his eyes begins again and he ignores the tears as they start to flow once more.

 

* * *

**-end-**

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that I inflicted this upon the world. I don't write in present-tense often, so I hope that it was alright. Any thoughts are more than welcome.
> 
> And again, I'm sorry.


End file.
